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Fanon:Losses, Bosses, and Burnt Crosses
Well, you know this was bound to happen again. Me or Grey woulda' continued to pity ourselves and tell about how we aren't heroes. You've sat through it two times in a row, and John's had to (against his will) proofread it as well. But yeah, me and John and all of the background soldiers who've got one sentence of dialogue survived the farmhouse raid. Trent, well, no... he wasn't as lucky, obviously. Is it remarkable we made it? Eh, sure, but I'd rather be burning in the deepest depths of hell than sitting where we are now, scribbling the notes of how we lost almost everything in our escape. Five hours ago, I would say, it all happened as we left the ransacked farmhouse. After gathering up whatever was left from the combination of Peretan corpses and littered cabinets atop the kitchen counter, the five of us marched into the unknown world that peace had left behind. What must've seemed to look like hope in the eyes of the nervous husbands and children was truly a ragtag group of men running from their superiors, heading in and out of small ruins of towns and small outposts. John, confused and annoyed after two hours of which seemed to take us nowhere, picked up walking pace, elbowing Grey in the shoulder. "I know you kicked the Peretan's hindquarters, but where in the hell are we going, sir?" John stated, raising an eyebrow with confidence. "Well, how 'bout you trust me, or we'll leave YOU on your hindquarter." Grey replied with a squint. " Sorry for denoting you, Lord Grey." John sarcastically replied. "Listen ya little shat, we're going to the only one I know survived this invasion. Ask me one more time, I dare you." Grey demanded, balling his fists. "Alright, alright, sorry sir. GENUINELY sorry." John replied, ending the brief bickering. Little of interest happened for the next twenty minutes, and Grey told me to not make the story absolutely miserable, so I'll skip the rest of our journey to the "only one". So, twenty minutes later... After the day's sun began to be blotted out by the clouds, Grey had finally stopped, staring at the stronghold ahead. Tyler soon follows Grey's strange behavior, Me and John share brief confused expressions behind Grey's back before he began to finally speak. " You know, Tyler, I never thought it'd come to us asking him for our help. I really didn't." Grey said, sighing. "Who would, to think an entire nation can fall within two days like that. Insane." Tyler replied. John butted in, " What sort of guy can save us from certain death exactly?" "A man quadruples your size, outweighed me by 300 pounds back in the military academy, that kept me from becoming a general instead of a captain of a squadron led to their death..." Grey continued. " Now what sort of a superhuman hulk are you talking about, Grey? Have you lost your marbles?" " His name... is Moostafa." The stronghold, as we both began to notice, was an old, run-down establishment that went by the name of Munfield's Bar & Grill. Though the building was obviously ancient and the sign far too uncared for to be in actual use, the fresh oak wood boards covering the windows indicated that it was, in fact, still inhabited by something. This grew my curiosity, as this might mean that we'd at least die in the comfort of dart boards, pizza, and a guy bigger than the four of us combined. Grey walked up towards the door of the bar, knocking it with gentle force. After a few minutes of silence, stomping began to ring from the house's foundations, growing to extreme volume until ceasing. Grey backed up a few steps, just before the door slammed open, stuttering against the rim of the railing along the stairway. Indeed, a massive, muscular figure stood in the doorway, his body so large that it filled the opening in it's entirety. His skin gleaned with a dark green glow, and was only partially hidden by his fur coat and helmet. In his hands held a behemoth of a battleaxe, with it's edges fitted with teeth for cutting notches into any opponent that comes it's way. He was surely capable of doing damage, the question would however be whether the damage would be done to the Peretans or us. Moostafa squinted, placing his battle axe to his side, before bellowing at Grey. " GREY, oh ho ho, now you're coming to me... what do you want?" " Let us stay here with you, for the night, if you would, Stafa. Just for a moment for us to get on our feet." Grey asked. " You think I'll let you come back and leech off me again? Not a chance, Grey, not a sliver." Moostafa replied with a stern frown. " I paid ya back for every penny I owed you when I got into the military, Stafa, you know that very well." " Ha, still caused me my time, something you're still making me waste. Now GO AWAY." " I know very well that YOU'RE slowly running out of rations, something we've got plenty of. I know 'ya think that bar business you traded for military service was a good 'nvestment, but look at where you are now." Grey replied, crossing his arms with a grin. " ...What you got for food..." Moostafa asked, sighing. I looked back into my bag, turning back to Stafa before butting in. " What must be about 200 cookies and 5 apples, enough for a year's worth of injuries. Nothing that a night's rest won't pay for." Moostafa, without speaking, stepped out from the doorway, walked down the stairs that croaked to the touch, and yanked the bag from my hand. As he walked back into the house, he motioned for us to follow. We did, following in a line formation: Grey, Tyler, Me, then John, into the bar. Compared to the exterior, the interior had been surprisingly well cared for, obviously lived in by Moostafa full-time. The six bar stools tucked neatly under the bar counter which wrapped around the right wall of the bar. Lining the entire room were paintings of legendary battle scenes from centuries before our time, as well as various trinkets Stafa had collected from his travels. Just as any other bar would look, yet none like it have survived through the Peretan onslaught. As the group moved around and explored the building, Moostafa pulled a bar stool and sat himself down, with the chair barely seating a quarter of his ceister. " They'll probably be another invasion tonight, you know, with five survivors all cooped up in one building and all. You've got your own weapons I see, and ammo I hope, right?" Moostafa asked. " All of us are armed, yesiree." Trent replied, glancing at Grey for confirmation. " Great, great. Well, I have nothing but my axe, so you get what you have." " That's alright. Tyler's lucky to have collected a few guns and ammunition over the years, so we got all the ammunition we need for tonight plus sidearms a-plenty right in the bag Charlie's got with him." Grey insists, hoping to lighten up the tense alcohol-soaked air around us. As John and Tyler spend the rest of the evening hanging around the bathrooms and messing around with a Galaga arcade machine, Grey and Moostafa watched as I nervously dash to each window, staring through the cracks in the wooden boards to check for any scout or sign of invaders. Finally after Moostafa and Grey silently chatter to each other in whispers for a while, Stafa stands himself up. " Seems 'yur little friend could need a little company, Grey. Hand me my beer and I'll get Moofie." Mustafa said, reaching towards a glass just out of his arm's length. " Aww, man, I remember the thing when it was just a pup. Such a sweet thing." Grey replied, sliding the glass to Mustafa, who immediately grabbed it and took a large chug from it, before clearing his throat. " Alright... Moofie, girlie, come on! Come out!" Moostafa called lovingly. Down the bathroom tile Moofie's paws pattered, past John and Trent to Moostafa, who got on his knees, to about my neck in height, to pet the husky creature in front of him. After a couple minutes of the gargantuat petting the canine, Moostafa patted Moofie in my direction, and I love up to the dog as it does the same. As I began to pet the monster of a dog, even in the dim lighting the bar provided, I noticed the dog's skin being a dark forest green. Curious, continuing to pet Moofie, I glanced at Moostafa and spoke. " So, what species of pup is Moof? She's such a pretty one." I asked, staring back at Moofie with her tail wagging ever so high. " Well, I dunno, I think she's some sort of mutation or something. Just picked her up after finding her feeding off the dumpster out back, so your guess is as good as mine. She 'be quite the fighter though." " Whatever. She certainly don't look like one, being so sweet and all." I said, smiling. Moofie suddenly catches my attention, scuddling near the window to my left overlooking the entrance and the outside world, which had now been totally engulfed in dusk. Her normally-cheery expression lowered to a frown, before she began to coo. Intrigued, I look into the window with her at my side. Total darkness, with only the faint sound of footsteps... except that they were growing ever so closer to the bar. As I fear the worst, within second I can hear the barking of a commanding officer, and they are certainly not on our side. Breaking the quiet footsteps is Grey, beginning to speak. " Hey, Charlie- at ease, ease. You're acting like the dog, what's the big fuss?" " Y-you remember Trent, and Xavior, and Kyle, and Gus, right? And how they perished by their own doing?" " Charlie, yes, and please stop bringing them back up. I already have the urge to down another glass, but please don't force me to it." " I won't, it's just that... if we wait around like them, we-we'll be just like them..." " Charlie, what are you-" " Peretans are here! God, and if we wait, we'll be the victims this time around! We are HIGH PRIORITY, Grey, they want us dead for good now, and they certainly aren't waiting for us to come to them!" With the end of the sentence, Moostafa and the rest of the squadron rise, staring at me for confirmation on my statement. " Is this boy serious? How many are there? Grey, if you brought yourself here just for the sake of getting them to target me, I'm gonna cut your head in two!" Moostafa bellowed, raising his battle axe from the floor. " You think we knew? If we did we'd been dead by sunset at the latest, and you know that, Stafa! So make another threat, I wanna see that battle axe go through my head before a bullet goes through your's." " IS THAT A CHALLENGE, GREY?! Come on, big boy, fight your superior! SHOW HIM WHO'S BOSS!" Moostafa roared, clenching his fist. Tyler breaks his silence, standing up against the two. " I'd hate to be tacky, but can ya'll stop this? We don't dare stand a fight if both of our sides have lost troops before the thing even starts. Just kill each other later, 'kay? I wanna see the light of day one last time, and I don't think that's too much to ask for." " Hmph, that's my boy." Grey replies, smirking at Moostafa. "...How many are out there..." Moostafa replies, defeated at the moment. I stare back out through the window, mentally picking through the silhouettes standing armed. " I'd say, mayb-" A crossbow bolt zooms through the window, past my left cheek, through the bar counter and slams dead-center into the screen of the Galaga console. Turning back to Moostafa, I finish. " ...60ish." Everyone's breathing, including the rugged Stafa, had taken a steep cease at that moment. John and Trent's eyes light up, gulping the air left in the back of their lungs before speaking. " There's- 'kay, 1 2 3 4 5... 6 of us? My lord we're screwed." " Ten to every one, yeah. W-well, I mean, Grey and I took on fourty, right?" Trent continues, worrily attempting to brighten their possible future. Moostafa sighs, walking over to the window, crouching to get the army into view. " Well, I dunno' much about the last attack, but I can imagine that the three of them's must've put a dent in their little ensemble, meaning that you took on MAYBE 20 of them at the most." Moostafa replies, grim in expression. At that moment, a war cry erupts from the Peretan force, and dozens of crossbow bolts fly into the wall and window. Most of us duck, with the exception of John, who practically throws himself onto the wooden flooring. Grey curries to cover under the large window frame, prompting everyone else to do the same, with the exception of Moostafa, who continued to watch the movement outside. Scuffing broken shards of glass from the top of his shoes, Grey glances back up at Moostafa, peeved. " Everyone, wait for the force to advance. We'll just pull 'em limb from limb when they get close." Grey commands, eagerly ready to tear some Peretan flesh. " Commander G, I don't think that'd be all too smart of 'ya, since last time we pulled that we lost half of our squad to the enemy." John replies warily. " Last time we weren't trapped in a lil' bar the size of a stale cookie, not to mention being outnumbered 10 to 1, right? We don't have much of another choice." Grey replies snarkily. Moostafa continues to stare into the darkness, where the shadows of the Peretan forces continue to grow less and less obscure. While we begin to bunker down around the bar, I stare into Moostafa lifeless eyes from the cover of stacked bar stools. He takes a massive breath, and walked towards the iron bar door. Grey quickly turned to his right, alarmed by Moostafa's sudden move. Moostafa paused when he reached the door. " If you won't get it done right, Grey, I'll do it for 'ya." Moostafa said, opening the door. Moofie soon followed Moostafa out the door, as they both gently strolled through the outside, before they stood in front of the bar, standing before a crowd of a dozen warriors rushing towards the pair. All remembered after is a blur. Watching Moostafa, even as a soldier myself, was as if watching a flag-twirler flabergast a crowd of thousands. While Moofie walks off to cause his own carnage of his own, Moostafa turns to the rest of the army. Bolts from multiple crossbows fling into his armor, pinging off like nerf darts to a metal shield. In reply, Moostafa launches his battle axe, slinging the weapon through four soldiers like paper. Just after, he darts towards the bulk of the crowd, snapping limbs from the bodies of the legion. The chaos erupting suddenly sparks an inner urge, a powerful sense to eliminate and prevail. Answering my call, Grey commands the next move for our squadron. " HA! That idiot thinks he 'kin handle himself, let's give them what for, boys! Show them what the titans can really do!" And with the that, the barrage of bolts from the Peretans is intertwined with the fire from our firearms. John and Tyler pull up towards the window, forming a line of cover support for Moostafa. Out of anything I remember from that night, I can vividly recall the sounds each gun made as the ammunition pinged off into the distance. The sharp twinge of Tyler's rifle, John's messy blast from the shotgun, and the precise, fine-cut pierce of Grey's modified musket. As Moostafa's movements continue to ramp up in violence and elaborateness, we continued to pour lead into the enemy. At that moment, roughly ten minutes after the initial confrontation, the bar's front wall had been torn to shreds by the sheer influx of wooden bolts slicing into the wood boards. Our belief that we were winning was becoming clearer and clearer, as we could feel the pride building up in our cores... ... Clink, clank, clurshk. The bolt of a crossbow strikes into Moostafa through the skull. Even from 30 feet away, you could hear the slam of his corpse falling onto the dry soil of Titania. Silence. Melancholy. Death. Moofie whimpers, taking the opposing force's silence to bundle itself back behind the barricade of the bar. The battlefield, for the one time in my career, fell completely still. Grey lurks behind the bar window, his eyes piercingly fearful, his hands growing cold. What was a great force of reckoning was torn apart before our eyes within seconds. Commander glances back at us, staring intently. " Mhm-John, get..." Grey muttered. " ...sir?" John replied, confused. " ...get... get. Get! Go, go, go!" " Grey, you's kiddin yoursel-" " Take that foul dog and your sorry a*ses and run for the hills! N-nobody's gonna make it like this!" " Well you coming then!" " Let me hang at their gallow, let my eyes be gouged, let my body be severed limb from limb, but do ''not '' stop runnin'. You hearing me, Trent?" " ...nyes. Get going, people, we don't have much time." Trent replied. " ...Grey, sir?" " ...get! No time for pity, John, leave it for Gus and his grave!" Grey roared, standing up to greet the incoming Peretan march. Still nulled by Moostafa's death, Trent takes the opportunity, yanking me along to a steady run for the emergency exit. Moofie darts past our trio, demolishing the wooden door with a single headbutt. Continuing to sprint, Trent hops onto Moofie's back, using his gray fur for leverage. I was soon to follow, jumping onto the wolf in vicious haste. John wasn't so lucky, falling behind Moofie's step. Glancing back at John, I reach out my hand to meet his, to which he successfully responds. Moofie cried, but continued to run. The black of dusk poured into the sky, a moon of burgundy hiding just out of sight. Gunfire poured into the bar, now a ways behind us. The full scale of the assault was unimaginable. Moostafa's bar was built for ten or so people, and the weight and impact of foreign musket balls sledging into his old establishment was tremendous.